Why is it that at times being in CI5 means constant stress and danger - and at times constant boredom? Things never exist in balance. First one in abundance then the other.

I wonder if I could find yet another way of saying the same, just to fill up a bit more time? But there really is nothing else to say than the fact that international crime is obviously on a summer vacation.

I'm sitting by the computer staring at my 157th unsuccessful solitaire on the screen. I mean, even statistically I should've by now hit a set that I could play through, right?

Backup materialises next to me from somewhere, looking and sounding equally bored.

"Doesn't anyone have a birthday coming? We so need an excuse to cut this boredom by some serious celebration."

Interesting observation: lack of work makes Backup sound awfully teen.

"Let's see... yours is long gone, mine we just celebrated few months back, Spence's is on December..."

"How about Chris?"

"You know... I actually have no idea. Funny."

But I don't really find it funny. I find it distracting. How can I *not* know? My partner's birthday? My best friend's birthday? The day the most beautiful creature ever was born? Forget the last one, actually.

Not like I could.

"True... He's been around for over two years, and we never seem to have celebrated *his* birthday", Backup sounds puzzled, too.

"And I thought yanks were rather big on those things", I say trying to do flippant.

"On what?" Spence asks, joining us suddenly.

"Birthdays. We just realised we have no idea when Chris has his. Where is he, by the way?"

I cannot help asking that. My eyes have been searching the room for him instinctively. So I don't like having him out of my sight, sue me. Hmm. Seems Backup isn't the only one getting teen-like. Add "lovesick" on my description, though, and you get a bit closer. And I don't even know his birthday. For some reason, that cuts me deep.

"He's down at the gym. Said he couldn't take this excitement any longer."

"We could always...", Backup begins.

"What?"

"Check it up..."

Spencer interrupts her: "To check up his file? Come on, Backup, you wouldn't want people to read up on *your* personal info."

"But it would be just for the date! It's right in the beginning. We wouldn't even have a chance to see anything else."

It takes her five minutes to convince Spencer. I cannot help her, seeing as I am fighting against my own conscience. It just somehow doesn't feel right to read Chris' files behind his back, to obtain information he wouldn't willingly give.

So why am I going on with this? Because I'm curious, goddammit! Curious and hurt, and I sincerely want to remember him at least on his *next* birthday, missing the last year, and probably this one also.

That brings the shame. I should've found it out by know. Maybe he has been hurt by my seeming lack of interest? I am supposed to be his best friend, after all... Even though I want to be so much more.

"Oh, shut up." I mutter to the voice inside my head.

"Huh?"

"Sorry, just talking to myself."

"Trying to silence your conscience? We're in."

"Whoa! We're in luck. September second is soon here." Backup rejoices.

"He is a Virgo? Well, I'll be damned", I laugh. Partly truly amused, partly relieved that I still have a chance to remember him on his birthday *this* year.

"What's so funny about that?" Spence frowns.

"All horoscopes state the Virgos are tidy and organised..."

Backup laughs, but asks innocently: "You read horoscopes?"

Can't help but blush. I have a horoscope-nuts sister. Honestly.

"Well, didn't you, as a kid, check how your sign matched with your crush's?" Spence to the rescue.

Backup's turn to blush.

Without really noticing it my eyes wander back to the screen, taking in the place of birth, then... marital status. Backup's glance has obviously followed mine.

"Chris is a widow!?" She asks, dumbfounded.

"Yeah...", I say quietly, all the pieces finally fitting.

"You knew?"

"Yeah... kind of..."

I raise my hand and hit esc.

"Hey!" She exclaims.

"So you wouldn't be tempted to read further."

"Like you're not curious?"

"Well... I wasn't sure whether I was going to press 'esc' or 'scroll down' when I raised my hand, but...", I grin.

"Well, we've got some planning to do. Finally some action!"

Oh, joy. With all the free time she has in her hands, she's going to plan the party like an operation. Just with more booze.

*******

"Great!" Backup storms out of Malone's office, seething.

"What's the matter?" I ask, having just got in, looking for a sign of my partner. Well, didn't really expect him to be in this early, things being slow again.

"Job waiting, no party?" Richards prophesies.

"No job, no party. Our birthday boy has called in sick."

"What's the matter?" I ask, frowning. I'm getting repetitive in my old days.

"Nothing serious, I heard, but definitely a day off."

"Well... we should get out reasonably early on a day like this, so... I'll go and check him up later."

"Good. Send our love, and give him my present, will ya?"

"Mine was a bottle of scotch, so better not give 'im that!" That's Richards, of course.

As predicted, the day is uneventful, and it's quite early in the afternoon that I drive over at my partner's place.

I am worried. He seemed fine yesterday, bit quiet, though... But why didn't he call *me* if he's ill?

And why doesn't he answer the door? I try the buzzer again, and as I don't hear the sound echo in his apartment I realise it's turned off. So I knock. Still no response. But I think I hear music inside.

Now I'm really worried, and use the spare key to his flat I have in my keyring. Calling his name I ascend the stairs.

"Chris? Mate, you okay? ... Chris...?"

Upstairs, I see him. Clad only in blue jeans that have seen better days he stands by the window, facing the cemetery, clutching a bottle of beer. He shows no sign of acknowledging my presence.

Could of course be he hasn't even heard me. Loud music fills the room, and not his usual classical either. I realise I know the singer and the song.

I walk to the CD-player, and turn down the volume considerably.

"Chris..."

"Hi, Sam", he says quietly, not turning his head. Can't quite make out the tone of his voice. Maybe because there hardly is one. Sad. Reserved. Distant. All these words and more rush through my head, but nothing seems quite appropriate.

"You OK?"

"Peachy."

He's still not looking at me, and I'm trying to will him to turn around, so I could see his eyes and get *some* hint to what he's feeling. He obviously is not ill physically. It's really hard to make up someone's mood from their back. (But it's a nice back anyway.)

"You called in sick. Got worried. We had planned you a birthday party, you know", I say, trying to keep the bitter edge out of my words.

"Yeah, I know."

Now I'm surprised, but he goes on.

"That's why I took the day off. Malone agreed to call it a sick day, though. Didn't want to hurt your feelings and all."

I take that is a collective "you", and not just me. He obviously doesn't give a fuck.

"You could've just *said*", I try, sounding hurt this time.

"What? 'I don't do birthdays'? That usually requires some explanation, and I wasn't prepared to spill my guts to the entire CI5."

"How about me?"

Silence. (Except for the music, of course.)

"And what do you mean 'don't do birthdays'? Got no problems with mine."

"My birthdays."

I have to get him to look at me! His voice is so - distant - it hurts my insides unbearably. But I can't *force* him to talk. Randomly, I start to talk about music.

"Didn't know you liked the Queen of Angst. Thought Requiem or something would be more like your idea of angst music."

Finally he turns to me, face matching the voice. And God, he looks tired. I don't think he's slept at all.

"Huh?"

I gesture at the CD-player.

"Dayan. The Faerie Queene. The Queen of Angst. That *is* her song."

"The Dreamcatcher, yeah."

I pause to listen at the words more carefully.

"It's not the same version as on the album."

"No. Single. Something called 'romantic' or 'weepy' version. It was a birthday present."

I glance at the bag I'm carrying, and smile ruefully.

"So you do presents, then."

"A Navy shrink I used to know sent it. Said she didn't think I'd got rid of my nightmares, so not being able to send me a real dreamcatcher she thought this would do."

"Thought you were allergic to shrinks."

"So would you be, if you'd have to see them the amount I did. Rachel wasn't half bad. Got to know her rather well. Liked me for some reason."

Jealousy is a bitch.

"May have something to do with the fact her husband was one of the first guys whose ass I pulled out of the fire in the SEALs. She wasn't too bad for a shrink either. Kept me alive, probably."

I don't think he even notices he's talking to me. He's facing the graveyard again, still clutching the beer, although I haven't seen him take a sip since I came in.

Another silence filled by Dayan on repeat.

"My lover once gave me a dreamcatcher, dreamcatcher, dreamcatcher... Said it was supposed to keep the bad dreams away, dreams away, dreams away... Much later I put it on my window to keep him away from my dreams Didn't work, didn't work... Now every morning I wake up in pain every night you die in my arms again Again. Again. Again. Again..."

He crouches as in pain.

"She can't have known the words. Can't believe she'd do anything this cruel to me."

I wait for him to clarify this, but he just keeps fighting back the emotions. And succeeds. Soon his face is as it was.

I get hold of the CD-cover and study the picture of Dayan on it, all black and white and Fairy-ears. The title is carved on her hand, and her face... There is a tear on her cheek, but she doesn't look sad. Nor expressionless. Just... detached. Like Chris.

He is speaking again. Again as if not even aware of talking aloud.

"I met Teresa on my birthday."

Finally we're getting somewhere. I try not to do anything to alarm him, to make him stop talking, so I just stand there, next to him by the window, holding the CD-cover.

"I think I loved her from the first moment. Or at least wanted her. For some odd reason, she seemed to like me too."

Oh, I can readily believe *that*. Had I not fallen for Chris from the second one myself?

"She was gorgeous. Beautiful. Funny. And she was mine. I was hers. Year later we were standing on the altar. We were getting married. On my birthday. 'Cos we wanted the date to *mean* something. And she was my best gift ever. Someone had other ideas. You know the term 'Shotgun wedding'? Well, machine gun version is something quite different.

Jesus - fucking - Christ, no. Anything but this.

"It was right after we'd cut the cake. She was standing in front of me, we'd just kissed. So she took the bullets shot in our direction, while I remained unscathed. Her parents... my parents... my siblings... our friends... all the guests... Not all of them died, but most of the survivors wished they had. Like me."

Shock makes it impossible for me to speak. Oh God. What can one possibly say to something like that? I have to say *something*, his voice is so distant. Like he doesn't care anymore, cannot care anymore. Like he's past emotions, nothing can touch him anymore. It's passive suicide, feeling like that. Trust me, I know.

"Jesus, Chris, I'm so sorry..." Words are so empty. I reach out to touch his shoulder. He shudders, but doesn't shift away from my touch.

"Now every morning I wake up in pain, every night you die in my arms again, again, again..."

"Your nightmares..."

"Just memories. No amount of shrinks could take those away."

"I'm so sorry." What else can I say? Yet it feels so futile. No wonder he doesn't "do" birthdays.

"Again, again, again, again, again, again..." Dayan's haunting voice goes on forever.

He looks at me again, straight in the eyes, and this time I see a flicker of some emotion back at his eyes.

"Before that I used to be quite serious, you know. But since then... I haven't... I ... It's like... nothing can ever be as bad, so everything seems quite ... useless. Light even, compared... So I seem shallow and flippant. Defence, partly, partly the fact I cannot take much seriously compared to that. Things others care greatly about, get stressed over... just don't seem worth it. If one gets stressed over small things... What emotions are *left* when something truly serious happens? I... I'm not making much sense, am I?"

Perfect sense. I'm beginning to understand him better, this man that seems to be the centre of my existence, and yet of whom I had known so little.

He's still going on.

"I joined the SEALs soon after the... Wedding... on a condition I saw the shrinks regularly. It was good, getting out of the city where everyone knew... out of the flat we'd shared... But I was too reckless. I wasn't suicidal, really, just went out of my way to save anyone and everyone. Wanted to prevent all those widows and orphans, you know... Trying to save the fucking world... so I wouldn't have to get a life of my own. Rachel was the one to suggest a complete change. So when CI5 approached me with the offer... Completely new country. New job. New people. New life."

I dare not breathe, as The look is back in his eyes.

"I'm glad I came. It's been so good to be known just as myself, the crazy hot-headed yank, not as the guy who survived *that* Wedding."

"I'm glad you came, too", I say quietly, "And I appreciate you telling me all this."

He looks away again.

"You're my best friend. If I can't talk to you... Been holding it in me for too long."

This time the silence is different. We stand there, side by side, just staring at the sunset (that late already?) over the tombstones. His pose seems more relaxed, now, when before it had just imitated that. He doesn't seem detached, either, and some of the sadness seems to have left.

If my presence truly did help... If telling me has eased his pain just a little... I feel humble. And glad. I would do anything for him, so it's good to know that maybe I have been able to do something.

I don't know how long we stand there, but as "The Dreamcatcher" reaches its end once more I am reminded of my cargo.

"I got you a birthday present. It seemed adept, and... well... talk about coincidences..."

He actually smiles taking the offered present, and my heart does acrobatics in my chest.

"You shouldn't have. But thanks."

"Wait 'til you see it before thanking me."

He opens the gift carefully, not ripping the paper as one would except, and I feel nervous. At last he's holding the dreamcatcher I found in a curio shop week ago. He doesn't say a word, just stares at the thing.

The song in the CD-player has begun again, the intro is finishing, and Dayan starts to sing, and I feel myself blushing.

"My lover once gave me a dreamcatcher, dreamcatcher, dreamcatcher..."

Chris seems to think of the same, for he seems to be blushing too, head still bent to look at the dreamcatcher. Suddenly he looks up, looking almost shy, and that something is back in his eyes, only this time it's something that makes me raise my hand on his cheek, neck... And before I realise, I'm kissing him.

Jesus Christ I'm kissing Chris. And he's kissing me back. And he tastes too good for my peace of mind... But it's a tender kiss, not passionate one, and it ends soon. I wrap my arms around him and he drops his head on my shoulder, and we just stand there.

I don't feel need for words. Strange contentment fills my senses. I guide us to the sofa, not letting go of him for a second.

I don't know how long we sat there, but gradually I realised Chris' breath had evened out and he'd fallen asleep. I shifted slightly, and am now lying on the sofa, Chris in my arms.

I don't know what happens when he wakes up. I don't know what happens tomorrow. Right now I'm just happy to be here, the man I love in my arms.

I watch his face. He seems so young. Too young to have had to live through all that pain.

Again I don't know how much time passes as we lie there, but in the end he shifts and wakes up. He blinks, staring at me. And I just know I have a look in my eyes best described as "soppy" and I just don't care.

"Am I still asleep?"

I smile slightly to his quiet question.

"I don't know. Is it a good dream or a bad dream?"

"Good... I guess... But bad dreams always start good... Sam..."

"Happy Birthday, Chris."

He shuffles to find a better position - still in my arms - never taking his eyes of my face. Then he moves, reaching for the dreamcatcher on the floor. Still in my arms.

"Thank you. I hope it works. Is it original?" He says, as if nothing had happened in between opening the present and this moment. But he's still in my arms.

"Comes with a guarantee, and my heart."

I wince internally as I realise what I just said, but he just smiles at me, and I feel like the Sun never did set. But he gets serious soon.

"I... I can't say it, Sam. Not yet, maybe not ever."

I feel my heart sink, and the Sun truly sets. Chris cannot love me.

"You see... It was the last thing Teresa ever said to me... And I couldn't answer... I could just keep crying 'no'. And I just felt... feel... She would've deserved to hear it one last time", he looks away from me as he continues, "It's illogical, I know. She knew it. The whole day was about... and yet..." He looks straight in my eyes again, whispering: "I cannot say it."

But it doesn't matter because, suddenly, I see it in his eyes. He does feel it. He does love me. For some unfathomable reason he does, and I just have to kiss him again.

This time it's different, passionate and demanding, and I feel it answered with equal emotion, and suddenly it feels like it's *my* birthday.